Gonna Be Good
by misspin
Summary: Rogue is left alone. How will she deal?
1. Coming and Going

Gonna Be Good = Chapter One: Coming and Going  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Get it? Nothing. Go ahead and sue me, but keep in mind that all I got is 17 cents.  
  
A/N: Well welcome to my very first x-men fan fic. I'm not sure what you'll think of it, but I'd love you forever if you read it and then left me a nice long review! -  
  
Warning: This story contains self abuse. I am in no way advertising it as a good thing. In fact if you really read through the entire story, you'll see how bad it really is! But if you really don't want to read about that kind of thing then just stop reading now.  
  
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The week after Jean Gray died he left. Again.  
  
I was in my room at the time, when all of a sudden I knew he was leaving, just like I'd known before. I could sense it, maybe it had something to do with my powers, or maybe I just knew him since he was floating around in my head, I don't know, but the point is that I knew.  
  
I rushed out of my room and down to the entrance hall hoping to stop him, even though I knew it was pointless.  
  
Sure enough as soon as I got there I saw him, he had his hand on the door handle, he had paused, almost as if he were rethinking his decision to leave. I saw my opportunity and I took it.  
  
"Logan? Are you running again?" I asked quietly, stepping fully into the room.  
  
"No, I'm going on a vacation."  
  
"For how long?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Logan-"  
  
"What? Look kid I really gotta go."  
  
"You promised. You promised you'd look after me... remember?"  
  
"What do yah need me for? You've got lots a people to do that for you here."  
  
"Well are you coming back?"  
  
"I dunno."  
  
"What, nothing to keep you here now that your precious Jean is gone? That's it isn't it?" I demanded, as tears started to flow rapidly down my cheeks. Granted I was probably over reacting, but at the time I was just angry at him for leaving me. There weren't a lot of people that I trusted, and he had been one of them... I guess I felt betrayed (whether that was fair or not, that's how I felt).  
  
"No...kid I-"  
  
I looked up at him, wiping the tears furiously away, "You know what "wolverine" you're right. I don't need you. I've got a real life now and people who care about me. I just thought you were one of them."  
  
"I-"  
  
"Hell I even have a boyfriend. What could I possibly need from you?" I continued, ignoring him, knowing that I wasn't exactly being fair. In fact I was being down right irrational, I mean it wasn't like he really owed me anything, it wasn't like he had meant that he would look after me forever...  
  
"Marie, please, stop..."  
  
"Oh don't worry, I'm done, you'll never have to deal with me again. Because that is after all, all that I am right? Someone that you have to deal with. Well forget it okay? Just forget it." and with that I turned around and stormed off.  
  
I could hear him calling my name all the way back to my room, but I didn't look back.  
  
He left that day, and didn't come back for two long years.  
  
Now that might not sound all that long, but a lot of things can change in two years.  
  
I finished high school and decided to stay on at the school, helping out where ever I could since I didn't have any training to be a teacher.  
  
Bobby grew up, and realized that he wanted a girl that he could love, in other words a woman that he could touch. He left and went out into the "real world" where I guess he got a job and lived happily ever after or something. It was for the best really, I mean me and him never would of worked out any ways.  
  
All of my close friends were gone actually, they'd all left because they could control their gifts. That was after all what the school was for wasn't it, a place to teach mutants to control their gifts? Too bad it never worked on me.  
  
I guess I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of everyone who left the school. I mean it's not that I wasn't grateful to professor Xavior for teaching me, and giving me a home, it's just that I knew that I would never even have the option to live around normal people and do normal things like everyone else. I was a freak and I was going to remain one for the rest of my life.  
  
I became pretty solitary, not talking much. As much as I loved and respected the older members of the x-men, they weren't exactly the kind of company I wanted.  
  
All I wanted was to be a part of something real, to have a real job with a real salary, so that I could buy a real house, meet a guy and have a real relationship, get married and maybe even someday have kids. But how could I do something like have kids when anyone I so much as touched practically died?  
  
Maybe that's how it all started, with me searching for something real.  
  
Either that or with something as simple as cutting an apple. You know it's funny how the tiniest thing can have the biggest impact on our lives.  
  
I was in the kitchen slicing an apple into quarters for a bit of a pre- dinner snack one day soon after Logan left, and I guess I wasn't fully paying attention to what I was doing because I accidentally let the knife slip. It slipped right into the index finger of my left hand. At first I was just shocked, I stood there staring at my severed finger, almost transfixed. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the slowly pooling blood. It was mesmerizing. It was a truly beautiful sight. And it was real. Real blood, real pain, real feelings.  
  
I'm not exactly sure what possessed me to do what I did next, but I picked up the knife that I had previously tossed aside, and experimentally drew it across my arm. As I watched a thin hairline cut appeared and with it came the tiny beads of crimson blood.  
  
Until then I had never really just looked at my blood, I never knew how truly amazing and captivating it could be. Funny how a person can just miss these things entirely.  
  
Of course then I realized where I was, the kitchen, where just anyone could walk in and see what I'd done. I felt a little ashamed, I knew I shouldn't being doing things like that, but then there was this weird surge of adrenaline pumping through my veins, it was thrilling. I quickly ate my apple, not minding the drops of blood that had fallen onto it, washed my arm and slipped back on my gloves. I walked around for the rest of the day feeling like I had this dirty little secret, it was something completely new. I felt empowered, I had taken my life into my own hands and it felt amazing.  
  
Soon my arm and thighs were lined in scars ranging in lengths from one to about six inches. I loved them, everything about them. I used to sit in my room, gloves off, counting them over and over, filled with a sense of security, and control. Because that's what it all comes down to right? The cutting was something that I could control, I couldn't control my power, I couldn't control who loved me back, but I could control this. That's what any shrink would tell you, it's all about the control. I know because I read some of the professor's psychology books (I found a stack of them in the back of the library one day). But they're wrong you know, that's not all it is, they just don't understand, cutting is real, it's beautiful.  
  
Besides, after a while there isn't any control involved. I'd be kidding myself if I said there was. You become addicted. Just like those crack whores you see on the streets, you need it, with out it you'd die and you know it, so you keep running back to it. I needed it, needed it bad. It's what was keeping me sane, and even more important than that, alive. I needed to bleed to live, it wasn't about control, it was about survival. Plain and simple. I really could teach those so called experts a thing or two, all of their psycho babble is just serious bull shit, they read too much into things, what ever happened to the simple things?  
  
I should of realized how lucky I actually was, I had a home, people who cared about me, a steady job and pretty much everything that most people spent their lives striving for. So why wasn't I happy? Because in order to have any of those things I'd had to be cut off from society. It's hard enough being a teenager or a young woman (what ever the hell you wanted to call me) with out having the added stress of everyone who touched you practically dying.  
  
But hey, that was my life, nothing I could do about it. The best plan anyone had for curing me of my power was for me to wear gloves. Yeah, brilliant guys, as if I didn't think of that one on my own. Everyone else grew up and learned how to deal with their special talents (of course I use the term special VERY loosely), but not poor Rogue, once a thief always a thief I suppose. Lucky me.  
  
After a year and a half had passed by I really didn't believe that Logan was coming back, after all why would he? To see me? That didn't seem all that likely. Not with the way I'd treated him.  
  
Just short of two years since he left I became positive that he wasn't.  
  
I could still feel him, in my mind that is, but even that was slowly fading. That made me even more upset. I hadn't felt truly alone since I'd absorbed him, because he was always with me in a weird kind of way that can't really even describe. I knew how he thought, and the things he had done. He was always there inside of me, but when he started fading I experienced what it was really like to be alone.  
  
That only made things worse, the small and fairly harmless cuts (harmless in my mind at the time any ways) slowly turned to deep violent gashes slashed across my arms and thighs. Things were starting to get really serious, I was loosing control. And it scared me, no it terrified me. I lost Logan, then Bobby, then Kitty, Jubilee and everyone else. Now I was losing myself.  
  
The day he came back, I knew he was there the second he got onto school property. I realized that I could sense him again as a tingle traveled down my spine. He was back.  
  
I promptly dropped what I was doing and locked myself in my room, refusing to come out. Telling anyone who asked that I was sick. Everyone seemed to accept that. Well almost everyone.  
  
I don't know exactly why I didn't want to see him, but I knew that I couldn't. Maybe subconsciously I just didn't want him to see what I'd become. Maybe I knew that he would see right through me. Or maybe I was still mad at him (fair or not) for leaving me. I couldn't explain it.  
  
Around dinner time, the day after he had arrived I was sitting on my bed running the sharpened blade of my swiss army pocket knife over my wrist, careful not to hit any important veins, still faking sick, when somebody knocked on my door.  
  
"Just a minute!"I called out as I frantically hid the knife and pulled on the nearest pair of gloves.  
  
"Hurry up kid." a familiar voice muttered impatiently.  
  
I opened the door up with a scowl, already knowing it was him, "What?"  
  
"Don't I get a hello?" he asked.  
  
"Oh sorry I just figured that there wasn't any point since you're sure to be leaving any time now." I answered tensely, knowing that I was just being difficult.  
  
"Oh come on, don't tell me that you're still angry about that..."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Marie, that was a long time ago."  
  
"Two years isn't all that long of a time." I stated bluntly, knowing that I was lying.  
  
He sighed, giving me the once over, as if he was searching for broken bones or some huge change in my appearance. "Well you haven't changed a bit."  
  
"Yes I have, now if that's all you've come here to say..."I said, moving back into my room and pushing the door slightly closed.  
  
Just then he happened to glance down at my left arm, which was resting on the door frame, blocking him from entering, where a rapidly growing dark red stain had appeared on the wrist my pail magenta glove.  
  
"What the hell happened to you?" he asked gesturing towards my arm.  
  
"It's nothing, now if you don't mind I really have to go," I said nervously as I tried to close the door.  
  
He easily grabbed onto my wrist, pushed the door open and let himself in.  
  
"Marie?" he asked as he gently shut the door.  
  
"It's nothing." I hissed, wanting more then anything for him to just leave.  
  
But before I could stop him he had ripped off the stained glove, revealing my bleeding cut and the array of scars that decorated my arm. He pulled off the other glove as well, to see pretty much the same thing. He then grabbed both of my arms, with his own gloved hands, to prevent me from running away.  
  
For a long time he didn't say anything, he just stared. I tried to guess what he was thinking, but I really couldn't.  
  
After a long pause he looked me in the eye and said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I change my mind,I was wrong, you have changed," He sounded angry, more angry then I had ever seen him.  
  
"It's none of your business, now let go of me." I spat, feeling suddenly annoyed. In what way was it his place to come back after being gone for two years and but in to my life?  
  
"It doesn't matter if it's my business or not." he snarled gripping my wrists tighter.  
  
"Get out."  
  
"Not until you explain to me what the fuck you've done to yourself and why the hell you're doing it!"  
  
"I don't have to explain myself to you! I'm not some little kid that you have to look after any more, remember?"  
  
"Marie... please, just tell me what the fuck happened..." he said, his voice softening a bit.  
  
"Just... Just leave me alone all right?" I muttered, I wasn't annoyed anymore, now I was just tired.  
  
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me." he stated firmly, tightening his grip again as if to enforce the statement.  
  
"Please, Logan you're hurting me," I told him quietly, looking down at my feet.  
  
He let my wrists fall out of his grip, so that my arms were hanging limply at my side. I was grateful that the unwanted pressure had let up.  
  
We fell back into another awkward silence, that was only broken by the sound of the door slamming as Logan left.  
  
For a second I was worried that he would go and tell the professor or one of the other x-men, but I knew he wouldn't. Logan wasn't the type of person who accepted help easily, even if it was on behalf of someone else. I could tell that he was going to try to fix this one by himself.  
  
At that point I was just too tired to even think about him, so I quietly curled up on my bed, cradling my still bleeding arm and fell into a restless sleep.  
  
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A/N: Well that's it for the first chapter. Let me know what you think! 


	2. The Next Morning

Gonna Be Good = Chapter 2: The Next Morning  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I swear.  
  
A/N: Okay here's the second chapter. It's shorter than the last one, but I hope you like it anyways.  
  
Warning: This story contains self abuse. I am in no way advertising it as a good thing. In fact if you really read through the entire story, you'll see how bad it really is! But if you really don't want to read about that kind of thing then just stop reading now.  
  
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The next morning I was awoken by another knock on my door.  
  
"Come in," I croaked, I was feeling like shit since I hadn't slept well or eaten in the past two days.  
  
Logan walked in, and closed the door behind him.  
  
"We're going to talk about this," He declared.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to have any food on you, would you?" I asked, ignoring what he had just said.  
  
With an aggravated sigh he reached into his pocket, pulled out a chocolate bar and tossed it to me.  
  
He was quiet as he watched me devore it.  
  
"Thanks, I was starved," I remarked, throwing out the wrapper.  
  
"What, did you stop eating too while I was gone?" Logan demanded. I could tell that he was starting to get irratated.  
  
"No, I just haven't been feeling all that well lately," I explained.  
  
"Wanting to avoid someone doesn't count as being sick."  
  
"And what makes you so sure I was avoiding you?" I countered.  
  
He paused for a second, "Because the Marie I used to know would of been happy to see me again."  
  
I had to laugh a bit at that, "Well maybe I'm not the girl you used to know then. People grow up, Logan. They change."  
  
He scowled, "Most people don't attack themselves with sharp objects."  
  
"I do not "attack" myself with sharp objects."  
  
"Then what the hell happened to your arms? Huh, did you "fall"? Come on Marie, how are you going to explain this?"  
  
"It's simple Logan, I'm not. I don't need to justify myself or my actions to you."  
  
"Fine. Don't explain it. But this is stopping. Now." Logan stated, exasperated.  
  
"You don't have any right to tell me what to do."  
  
"Well somebody has to, or else you're going to end up killing yourself! I can't believe that no one's tried to stop you before now! What about that Billy kid, your uh boyfriend, how come he hasn't fucking noticed?!" I could see him clenching and unclenching his fists, and I couldn't help but think of the sharp deadly clawn hiden there...  
  
"Bobby isn't my boyfriend anymore. He's gone."  
  
"Oh... Well still someone in this place should of fucking known by now!" He roared, "How long have you being doing this to yourself?"  
  
"Almost two years." I answered flatly.  
  
I watched as it registered with him that I had been cutting myself ever since he left.  
  
"Marie- I-"  
  
"Stop. It's not because of you if that's what you're thinking. It has nothing to do with you." I said, knowing that I was still lying a little bit.  
  
He looked me in the eyes, not fully believeing me and sighed.  
  
"Marie, you can't do this to yourself. You're better then this."  
  
"Maybe I'm not."  
  
"You are. Just tell me what happened."  
  
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm still right here, exactly where you left me. Stuck in this god forsaken school."  
  
"Is that what this is all about then? Being here? Then just leave, last I checked you were a student, not a prisoner."  
  
"First off I am an employee, not a student, second I can't leave, and third, it isn't about anything."  
  
"Why can't you leave?"  
  
"You've been gone too long Logan, you seem to have forgotten why I'm here in the first place. Anyone who touches me gets hurt, I can't be around normal people, it's too dangerous. But it's not about that." I explained, some what untruthfully. I was getting used to lying to him at this point, it seemed to come pretty naturally.  
  
He scowled at me and sat down on the bed oposite me.  
  
"Look Logan... You wouldn't understand."  
  
"Try me kid."  
  
I had no idea how I could even begin to explain to him the beauty of my blood, or the release cutting gave me. He wouldn't understand how it made me feel like I was finally a part of something beatiful, something real. I couldn't seem to arrange a sentence that would convey these things to him so that he could understand fully, so instead I stayed silent.  
  
"Look, how am I suposed to help if you don't tell me what's wrong?"  
  
I didn't know what to think of that, so I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind (not something that I recomend doing all that often...).  
  
"Oh what, so that you can just magically make everything better so that you can leave again without having to feel guilty? Who said I even wanted your help?!"  
  
I hadn't meant it to sound pathetic or petty, but that's how it came out.  
  
"I wouldn't of left before if I had know that you needed me."  
  
"I thought that I told you it wasn't about you, so don't go feeling all guilty, acting like this is all your fault. I'm not some little girl trying to get attention because her - well I don't know what you are - but because you left."  
  
"And you even told me that you didn't want me to go. You practically came right out and said that you needed me to take care of you, hell you did come right out and say it." He continued on, ignoring what I'd said.  
  
I was actually sort of impressed that he even remembered our last conversation...  
  
"Logan! It has nothing to do with you! Why can't you just believe me?"  
  
I suddenly felt this insane need to reasure him that he had nothing to do with what I'd done to myself. What I'd become. He shouldn't have to feel guilty over me.  
  
"Maybe if I would of been here..." He trailed off.  
  
"Nothing would of changed. My entire world doesn't revolve around you, you know."  
  
"Then what? Is this about Billy or Benny or what ever his name is? I'll kill him if he hurt you!"  
  
"This is NOT about BOBBY. We just didn't work out. He didn't do anything wrong. It isn't about anything or anyone. I told you, you wouldn't understand."  
  
That seemed to shut him up, and we both spent the next few moments staring at eachother. I felt bad about shutting him out, and I wished that I could explain everything to him, but I knew that there was no way that I could put it into words without sounding crazy (a word of advise, if something you want to say sounds crazy, it's probably because it is).  
  
"Let me see your arm," He said rather gruffy, motioning to my left arm, finally braking the silence.  
  
After a second of hesitation I gingerly pulled of my glove and held out my arm for inspection.  
  
He held my wrist surprisingly gently with his leather clad hand and turned my arm both ways so that he could see it from all angles and the full extent of my work.  
  
"And the other arm."  
  
Then he repeated the same process with my right arm.  
  
"Are there any more?"  
  
"No," I lied.  
  
He raised his eyebrow questioningly, so I admitted that there were some on my legs, which of course he wanted to see.  
  
"Well I'm not very well going to take off my pants so you're just going to have to take my word for it," I said with a hint of an amused smile tugging on my lips.  
  
I could of sworn that I saw a slight red-ish tinge cross Logan's face, but as quickly as it had come it disapeared.  
  
"Roll up the bottems of your pants as far as they'll go then." He muttered.  
  
With a sigh I obediently did as I was told, revealing the bloody mess that was my legs.  
  
"Jesus Christ," He muttered as he cautiously repeated the same procedure on my legs, or atleast what he could see of them.  
  
"This is way worse then I thought," He declared upon finishing his inspection.  
  
"What, are you a doctor now? They're just scratches."  
  
He didn't reply, as he seemed to be deep in thought. Maybe he was contimplating my level of sanity at the time.  
  
"What's with you anyways? Since when does "Big Bad Wolverine" care about anyone? All this careful touchy feely "you're better then this" preeching really isn't your style,"  
  
"Well I didn't think this," he said pointing at my arms which were still covered in dry blood, "was your style either, so I guess today is just full of new discoveries." He commented dryly.  
  
This wasn't the Wolverine that I was used to.  
  
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A/N: And that's it for now... Please review, and please be kind, this story is sort of my favourite of my fics right now. Flames are welcome, but if you really don't like it I'd rather constructive feed back if possible... What I really like is nice long reviews explaining what you like about my story.... That's always nice... Okay well that's it for now... JUST MAKE SURE YOU REVIEW!!! 


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